


Dreams Will Tell

by SkySamuelle



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-14
Updated: 2012-06-14
Packaged: 2017-11-07 18:13:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/433943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkySamuelle/pseuds/SkySamuelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bonnie is sick and how does Damon coddle her? By slipping inside her dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreams Will Tell

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: Post S2
> 
> A/N: This was written for the Bamon Drabble Party at bubbly_fics. The Prompt: Dream Invasion.

Elena and Stefan are in a cuddling mood tonight, Damon notices as he swallows his second glass of scotch, eyeing with bored disapproval the way his brother plays with his girlfriend's long locks. The couple is splayed all over the couch and watching a _chick flick._

Once upon a time Damon would take pride in breezing in, a blinding smile and a half-buttoned shirt on just to ruin their mood, commenting on how there were better things to be done with a contented Elena nestled against your chest.

But that was before he realized that being Elena's personal, walking wet dream is not quite the same as being the love of her life.

Now harassing 'Stelena' is more habit than anything else and all he wants after watching them coo at each other for five minutes is some verbal sparring with a girl who knows how to dish it out as good as she receives it.

A girl with a small shapely figure who happens to be a witch with a penchant for threatening his life if he does so much as look at her the wrong way.

In other words, he's aching for his Bonnie Bennett Fix. One hundred forty-five years of living and destroying lives, and he never figured, until meeting her, that having a frenemy is massive, UST-wrapped fun.

He finally has a nemesis worthy of the name, and he can never predict when she is going to be civil to him and when it's going to be World War III. It also doesn't hurt that that she looks and smells absolutely _delicious._

* * *

"What do you want?"

Opening her bedroom's window to him after leaving him out for _half an hour_ cawing and thumping his beak against the glass, Bonnie doesn't look as delicious as he had pictured her to be tonight. While the hostility in her reddened eyes is definitely _inspiring_ , the fluffy cotton dressing she has enveloped her body in disappoints all his (admittedly over the top) expectations.

"Elena was right: you seriously look like you're incubating yellow fever," he comments casually, stepping in, like he is completely unaware of the outraged glare aimed at the back of his head while the witch pulls her dressing tighter around her frame.

Obviously he is exaggerating, but there's nothing like beginning one of their conversations with a good low blow. He loves it when she gets all ferocious and riled up over one of his _innocent_ quips, and he is not going easy on her just because she happens to be sick.

"Damon, I've got a fever, my head aches, and I'm tired. I'm not in the mood for your bullshit, so if you want something, out with it, because if you're just going to a be an asshole, I'm going-"

"Relax, Bon Bon," Damon waves her upcoming threat off, rolling his eyes in a show of annoyance. "This is only a social call. I was bored and thinking of you, so…"

Tucking his hands nonchalantly in his jacket's pockets, he looks at Bonnie pointedly, like he expects her to break out in a wild dance (or maybe a striptease, knowing his type) just to entertain him.

"How many times must I repeat it for you before it sticks? People are _not_ toys," she replies with no real bite, self-consciously tucking a lock of her messy hair behind her hear and turning away from her unwanted guest to return to her bed.

"Yet, the world is my playground," he shrugs with a smoldering smug smile that makes her feel all the more aware of how unkempt she must look in comparison to his casual elegance. At times like this, she wishes they had never called a truce.

Not bothering to play along or to even glance his way, the witch tucks herself back under the covers, trying to not resent the way he is staring down at her, standing two inches away from her bed.

"I'm going to sleep now."

"Okay. Go ahead."

"Let me rephrase it. What I meant was: Go away, Homicidal Vampire."

As an answer, he sits down beside her bed, on the floor, so they are eye to eye. It would be ridiculous if it wasn't tragic. "I have a better idea."

"I'm nearly afraid to ask what it's about," she sighs, resigned.

His grin grows even smugger, and it sends a rush of foreboding along her spine. "Don't worry, you'll like it. Even if it doesn't _necessarily_ involve sex."

* * *

Bonnie has no concept of how the damn vampire convinced her to participate in his little experiment, because willingly letting Damon Salvatore inside her head is probably the craziest, most spontaneous thing she has ever done in her life. Tomorrow she will probably blame the fever, but tonight she is glad he is such a persuasive bastard, because the salon is magnificent, and the chandelier's glow gives it a magical, fairy-tale like appearance. The singing of the violins and the low chatter of the distinguishably-attired crowd swim around her as she slides through the hall, holding on Damon's arm.

Dressed and combed as an 1864 wealthy gentleman, he looks more handsome than she cares to admit, and it strikes some deep chord inside her knowing that this is how he had looked when he was a mortal.

They pass a mirror and she must stop, because she almost doesn't recognize herself: Damon has dressed her in a burgundy iridescent silk taffeta gown, simple yet beautiful, with an off the shoulder neckline and a bodice with center front panel of matching burgundy and gold brocade. Her hair is pinned in a low bun at the back of her neck.

"I look…"

"-like a lady," he continues in a soft drawl as she drifts off, his lips brushing her ear.

"This may be a dream, but I bet that if I blow your heart up, it will at least hurt."

She doesn't move away from him and the frost of her words is contradicted by the pleased smile on her lips as she can't take her eyes off her reflection.

Damon smirks, surrounding her waist with his arm and pulling her against him.

"I've always known you were a closeted sadist, Bennett."

It's yet another instance where she might move away but chooses to not do it. It probably has nothing to do with this dream being his creation and more with the fact that she feels …coddled. In the real world she felt sleepy and blue, but in here she's a queen.

"I'm not sure you were allowed to get this close and personal with respectable ladies back in 1864, Mr. Salvatore." She shrugs and adds, "Then again I wouldn't be considered a respectable lady back in 1864." Her eyes cloud.

He had offered to show her how the original founders celebrated those recurrences her townsfolk are so set on remembering, just to satisfy an old curiosity of hers. However, she knows where her place would be at an event like this back in the day. Where Emily and countless others who looked like her were.

"True, but I can't say I was big on respecting conventionality, even back then."

Bonnie scrutinizes his features carefully in the mirror, intrigued by the quiet intensity she finds there and in his voice. Damon gives out peeks of honesty as often as Kelly Donovan gives out peeks of cleavage, and pretty much with the same intent, but the witch can tell this, _now_ , is different.

"I believe you," she says quietly.

He steps back, distancing himself from her, but never disengaging his gaze from her reflection.

After a moment of consideration, he schools his expression into a mask of seriousness and holds out his hand to her, bending at the waist a little. "Will you dance with me, _Miss_ Bennett?"

When she turns around fully and places her bare palm on his, a wave of feeling runs through her.

Then something occurs to her, clearing her mind of that confusing euphoria.

"You know I can't dance like them, right?" She inclines toward the dancing couples at the center of the salon, looking so proper and graceful in their every movement of.

Damon clasps her brown hand in both of his, gently but firmly, a fiendish light in his blue eyes. "I know it might kill you, little witch, but you shall have to _trust_ me and allow me to _lead_."


End file.
